


It's Hell In Here Too

by Skyedestiny



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen, Some slight hinting at feelings for Wesley from Illyria, and it was always a little confusing, but it would keep coming up when I'd write for her, in the end I just know she's incredibly fond of him - more so than anyone else, like 'DO YOU??', not that that was ever something I was aiming to do, tbh I could never quite suss out just exactly how she felt for him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 10:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10161050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyedestiny/pseuds/Skyedestiny
Summary: There is a night, after LA falls into chaos, that Illyria finds herself at an old hotel.  A place that she has never been but screams of familiarity.  It's a place Winifred Burkle knew, and its singing ghosts - and it has so many - beckon her closer and in.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted on September 5, 2015. (Originally written a lot earlier.)]
> 
> This is another one of those things that was more character study than anything else, I suppose. At the time that I was trying to get used to Fred's headspace, I was also trying to get used to Illyria's, to see how they differed, and then, in other ways, how they were alike. It was really interesting to observe the difference in tone that the two evoked and- anyway, I'll quit rambling and let you see for yourself!

Illyria walks through the Hyperion Hotel. She brushes her hand along every surface – along the counter in the lobby – and what she sees is overwhelming. A million gatherings with familiar faces. The champion, Angel, the one who eventually becomes the lawyer, Charles Gunn, her teacher, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, looking far different than she had known him to be – more naïve and happy as time retreats – someone her form’s memories tell her is Cordelia Chase, and…Winifred Burkle.

Sometimes there are more faces standing around the counter, but those five are constants. Her hand jolts back. Something about what she’s seen makes her insides sting. Her blue eyes scan the room, such a light shade that they almost glow. So many congregations around this counter. So many hopeful faces. And now there is no one. No one but her. 

Wesley is gone. Cordelia vanished before Illyria even arose. Angel and Spike are still around. So is Charles Gunn. But unlike the other two, he is not the same. He has become the one thing he had wished to never be. Her hand lingers, floating above the surface. All of those hopeful faces. And in the end, they just fade away to nothing. The memories swirl like dust in the air, permanent ghosts of the space.

Her eyes fall to the dust-covered floor. She can no longer stand in this spot – she is compelled to move. And so she begins to climb the stairs. The action and the surroundings seem familiar and yet, not at all. Her hand runs over the walls. The floor creaks and she stops before a door. A force pulls at her and brings her inside the room. She isn’t sure why at first, there is nothing distinctive about this room. But then she clears her mind, allows herself to reach out and explore the space with her senses.

There is writing all over the walls.  
“If you could square your own thoughts, could you cube your own problems?”  
“In theory things are possible, but in reality things don’t work.”

This is her writing; her room. Winifred Burkle. Her vessel holds a deep attachment to the room. She still cannot understand how people can be so fond of walls – how they can choose to close themselves in, to box themselves up into such tight spaces. She reaches out to touch at the bed sheets and stops, her hand halfway to its destination. She notices now that her hand is bare and tan. As is the rest of her arm. She brings her hand to her face and studies it with scrutinizing eyes. She is in a dress. Her form has changed without her volition and she is now wearing the mask of Winifred Burkle.

She drops her hand back to her side but follows it with her confused gaze. The gaze travels over her form, and then to her surroundings. Slowly, she moves to sit on the bed. How does this feel so natural? She rubs at the sheets, and even though they haven’t been used in quite some time, they still feel soft, warm, and inviting. She wonders why this lures her in. A king is wary of all that seems inviting, of warm and of soft. But she feels comfortable in this space. Her parted lips shift into a frown, her brows furrow. And she sinks into the sheets - suddenly finds herself lying on her side. Memories flash through her mind at the contact, of course, but these are not at the forefront of her thoughts.

A sense of loss. That is what she feels. This place used to be swarming with life and love. And now it is barren and bare. She is reminded of her lost and fallen kingdom. 

“Fred?” It is the sound of the past. Multiple people call the name with different inflections and different tones, but most are filled with affection. And respect which would rival that which Illyria felt during her time of rule. Grief shoots through her. It was torturous before, but now, it is close to being actually painful. This place is overwhelming her. And she knows that if she remains in it, it will take her down.

She stands and forces herself to change back to her normal form. She can’t leave fast enough – she finds herself nearly gliding down the stairs. But once she re-enters the lobby, the assault on her senses starts all over again. She shakes her head, her hands gripping her face, eyes closed to ward off the onslaught. This space is too small, and even though Hell lies just beyond the doors of the hotel, she must return to it. It suddenly seems like a relief, an oasis from the grief.

She stops, a few steps from the gateway. Outside there is grief, too. There is reality. Here, there is illusion. There are painful memories – ones that don’t even belong to her. But what lies outside is tangible. Is it really so much better there than here? But the question is irrelevant. What is outside must be faced. And what is here…must be cast aside and left behind.


End file.
